It All Comes Out
by 76-trombones
Summary: Dumbledore's secret is finally out.  written in honour of National Coming Out Day  Dumbledore/Grindelwald


I wrote this fic in honour of National Coming Out Day (11 October). Sorry I posted it late, but Albus waited until 9:00 pm to inspire me. "Misery Loves Company" will resume work after I finish this.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stretched out on the settee. He casually flipped through the pages of The Daily Prophet, paying more attention to the frowning blond in front of him than to the words on the paper. "You know, if you keep making that face, it'll stick like that," he teased softly. "That would be a sad day for all society."

Gellert Grindelwald was too handsome and full of eastern European mystery and charm. There was a wild merriness to him, tinged with an otherworldly intensity and focus. He had a magnetic personality, attracting people to him . . . people like Albus, who found it difficult to ignore these increasingly powerful feelings toward him. The idea of his lineless, bright face perpetually forced into a wrinkled grimace was disturbing. Sure, Albus realized that they wouldn't be in their twenties forever . . . one day, they would be old and grey, wrinkled and hunched over . . . but not yet. For now, he could enjoy the benefits of youth, flirting and having fun with anyone who caught his fancy.

Girls quite liked young Albus Dumbledore. Although he lacked his best friend's Aryan good looks, Albus Dumbledore had his own charm. His electric blue eyes danced like sparks, glittering with wit and intellect. His gangly height put him just above the rest of the crowd, letting his auburn hair catch the light like a cathedral window. He was always well-dressed and could turn heads without trying, his aura of power and control preceding him. When he spoke, people listened. He was charismatic and, above all, brilliant.

The creases in Gellert's brow relaxed and a softer expression crossed his face. "Forgive me, Albus. Writing a manifesto is no easy vork. Das is all bullshit. . . . No good. . . ." he said, his Austrian accent thick and irresistible. He threw his quill down and pushed his chair back onto its hind legs, resting his brown lace-up oxfords on the desk.

Albus casually rose and strode over to Grindelwald, his long legs making little work of the distance between them. He rubbed his back as he looked over his shoulder at the work Gellert had already done. True enough, there wasn't much to it beyond scratched out phrases, ink blots, and smears. The few bits that were legible were far from the intended tone of the manifesto. It was a bit of a disaster . . . not that Albus had the heart to tell his crush that. "It's not that important. You've always been more of an orator than a writer. Leave the manifesto to me."

"Ja. It needs your touch." Gellert's ink-stained fingers lightly brushed Albus' hand, sending a spark of want down the British boy's spine. Albus melted a little, wrapping his arms around Gellert and burying his long nose against the soft skin of his best friend's neck.

"Albus . . ." Gellert said softly.

"Gellert," Albus replied, leaning in for a kiss.

"Albus," he said more firmly.

Gellert had always been very strict about no displays of intimacy, especially around the house. He would permit hugs or holding hands when no one was around, but he always stressed that they weren't permitted to be romantically involved. It would be a distraction and the cause was too important to be undermined. They had to have their wits about them. The smallest weakness in their political front could ruin everything and their relationship as it was remained their greatest strength. Anything more than this – friendship? brotherhood? – could become their Achilles' heel.

And what if Aberforth or Ariana walked in on them? How would they feel if their caretaker, their provider, their role model was caught in the arms of another man? It wasn't acceptable. It wasn't proper behaviour. And Albus and Gellert could go to jail for "gross indecency," that horrible catch-all punishment for any relationship that questioned traditional values. That was a definite hindrance to what could have been a strong relationship, one for the history books. They could have been the greatest power couple in all history but for the laws . . . and the shame . . . and getting arrested, which would jerk him away from the siblings he was supposed to take care of.

"You're right . . ." Albus sighed. "Of course, you're right. You're always right." Slightly disappointed, he sat on the arm of Gellert's chair and rubbed his back. The two boys leaned together, intimate without vulgarity, both tired – one of writing, the other of pretending.

Aberforth came through the doorway and hesitated slightly as Gellert and Albus straightened. Poor Aberforth was less attractive than his older brother . . . and less intelligent . . . and less charming . . . and less popular. Aberforth stood there in hand-me-down clothes that didn't quite fit his chubbier frame. A near permanent scowl was fixed to his teenaged face and his nail beds were black with grime.

Albus ran a hand through his perfectly tousled auburn hair. "Yes, Abby? What do you need?"

Aberforth looked awkwardly between the two of them before saying, "Are you gonna start dinner soon? Ariana's getting hungry."

Albus checked his pocketwatch and his eyebrows rose in mild alarm. "Gracious, where has the time gone? I'll get right on it."

Gellert stood up and stretched casually, his waistcoat tight across smooth abs. "I should go home to my aunt. I shall see you tomorrow, Albus." With a polite albeit curt nod to Aberforth and a handshake with Albus that lingered far too long to be perfectly innocent, Gellert left.

The two brothers stood in quiet silence for a while, awkwardly rooted, neither wanting to address the elephant in the room. Finally, Aberforth opened his mouth. "He doesn't like you like that. . . ." he informed his older brother bluntly, not skirting around the truth. That candid nature of his had always been his greatest strength and even greater weakness. Aberforth looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Albus nodded sadly, smiling softly despite the pain in his heart. "I know."

More silence followed. Albus broke it this time. "I still love him, though. . . ." he mumbled quietly.

"I know." Aberforth stared determinedly at a speck of dirt on the floor.

Another brief silence. Both boys quietly tried to process the significance of the exchange.

"I'm going to start on dinner."

"Okay."

As Albus walked by his brother, he contemplated hugging Aberforth. He couldn't remember the last time they had embraced . . . possibly their mother's funeral? No, before that. . . . They hadn't hugged since their father was sentenced to Azkaban. He and Aberforth had never really been very close, though; Aberforth spent all his time taking care of Ariana and Albus had better things to do than cuddle. As he passed, Albus awkwardly patted Aberforth's arm. He opened his mouth to say something encouraging but realized that Aberforth didn't need that; really, there was nothing Albus could say. With a grim smile, Albus quietly walked past and went upstairs.


End file.
